Only Stylists
by NotExactlyReality
Summary: Every day is reaping day when you watch innocent children subjected to the brutality of the Games. THG rewritten from Cinna's point of view. I'm bad at summaries and titles, don't count the story out, though! T for some violence.
1. The Girl on Fire

prologue; the girl on fire

I watch the screen quietly. I would be bored if not for two reasons; one, I am a stylist in the Games this year. Two, I am watching what will be, most likely, the last time two of these children will see their homes.

The other stylist for District 12, Portia, is standing just behind my chair, and we have tuned in to this district's reaping earlier than most stylists do. The mayor has finished his speech just as I have finished looking through the crowd of possible tributes from age 12 to 18, though I haven't had a good look at them, as the camera has been focusing on the mayor himself for most of the time. I see this district's mentor, Haymitch Abernathy, as the screen introduced him, stumble into the camera's view. From just how intoxicated he looks, I feel even more sorry for District 12's tributes.

I recognise Effie Trinket, of course, cheery as can be, giving the line she's almost known for around here. After her encounter with Haymitch, she's looking just a little sideways and seems to be waiting until she can pull the slip, not so excited about this reaping anymore. She keeps her bubbly attitude though, even as she reads the name on the slip of paper.

"Primrose Everdeen." Unlike in other districts, nobody cheers. This girl, Primrose, looks barely ten years old to me, though I know she must be twelve because there's no other way she'd be in the reaping. She's pale with fear, knuckles whiter than the rest of her as she clenches her hands, as she walks up to the stage.

"Prim! Prim!" I hear a new voice call out, almost choking, as a girl maybe fifteen or sixteen makes her way through the crowd. This other girl, dark hair, small but tough, if you look close enough, contrasts against Primrose's blonde hair and her fragile frame. "I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute!" There's a bit of a hush for a moment, a murmur on the stage, then Effie says something. I'm not paying attention to them. The girl, Primrose, is begging the volunteer not to go, and I can see, even if nobody else can, the pain in the volunteer's eyes. A young man picks up the girl and takes her off. Effie asks the volunteer's name.

"Katniss Everdeen," she says. Primrose must have been her sister, though they don't look much alike. Effie says something, quickly, but again I'm not paying attention to what she is saying. I'm studying Katniss' features, wondering how to make her really shine, though I think she's done that herself just now.

"Well, she was just on _fire _out there!" Portia sounds delighted. Then I know who this girl is.

Katniss Everdeen, the girl who was on fire.


	2. Chapter 1: Presentable

chapter 1; presentable

I wait patiently for the prep team to finish with Katniss. It isn't boring at all, though I'm not doing anything in particular, combing through my thoughts and trying to think of just what I'm going to do with this District 12 tribute, the one who has made herself shine so much on her own. I know, really, though the real question, at the moment, is whether or not the girl herself will agree with me.

It's not long before the three of them have shown up, managing to stop their conversation long enough to tell me that they've finished. It's taken a while to get used to them, but they're endearing, in a way. I thank them, stand, and head towards the room.

It doesn't bother me at all that the tribute - I really do hate that term - is completely nude, but I'm sure it bothers her, not that she shows that at all, beyond the way that she follows me closely with her eyes. I introduce myself, looking over her.

"Just give me a moment, all right?" I walk around her, paying attention to every detail. It's not hard to imagine how she might look in what I have planned.. To an extent, at least. There's always the possibility that things won't go as they should, but I'm confident. Finally, I focus on her hair. It's been done almost perfectly, intricately, and I decide that if you're considering looks alone, it's currently her most stunning aspect. "Who did your hair?" I can't help but ask.

"My mother," she responds simply.

"It's beautiful. Classic really. And in almost perfect balance with your profile. She has very clever fingers," I say, taking in the full effect of the style. At first look it's simple, but for someone like me, who's had so much experience in things like this, it's really quite amazing.

"You're new, aren't you? I don't think I've seen you before," Katniss comments. It's the slightest bit amusing, as apon another thought, I really am much different from most of the other stylists.

"Yes, this is my first year in the Games," I reply, sort of hoping that the contempt I feel for the Hunger Games isn't as obvious to everyone else as it is to me.

"So they gave you District Twelve," she assumes. Quite the contrary - I was given a choice. It's really quite the funny idea here, actually, 'choice' in the Capitol. With how controlling it tends to be, I think that most choices are only masks for something planned, either way.

"I asked for District Twelve." I don't explain further, not particularly wanting to delve into that. Besides, now is for Katniss and how I'm going to make her shine. "Why don't you put on your robe and we'll have a chat." She pulls on the thin robe and follows me as I walk into the sitting room. The now-cloudy sky casts a light into the room that gives us no need for fixtures, and I sit on one of the couches after inviting Katniss to her seat. Pressing a button on the side of the table, I watch as its top splits and reveals the second tabletop, which holds our lunch.

In the Capitol, it's nothing extraordinary, though I take a moment to think how outstanding this must be to someone in the Districts, someone who has not once in their life had enough to eat. My attention shifts to the girl sitting across from me. I can tell that she's thinking, scrutinizing the food, really. Of course, people in the Capitol never have to deal with being hungry. "How despicable we must seem to you." It would've saddened me to know that if I didn't know that there was a very good reason for it. I don't get an answer, so I continue. "No matter. So, Katniss, about your costume for the opening ceremonies. My partner, Portia, is the stylist for your fellow tribute," oh, how I hate that word, "Peeta. And our current thought is to dress you in complementary costumes. As you know, it's customary to reflect the flavour of the district."

I've thought a long time about these outfits, spoke to Portia for hours on end before finally coming to a conclusion. All the previous clothing was bland, nothing to be desired. We needed to wow the audience. "So, I'll be in a coal miner outfit?" Katniss asks, obvious a little irked by the idea.

"Not exactly. You see, Portia and I think that coal miner thing's very overdone. No one will remember you for that. And we both see it as our job to make the District Twelve tributes unforgettable," I say, a tinge of determination in my voice. "So rather than focus on the coal mining itself, we're going to focus on the coal. And what do we do with coal? We burn it." She's almost not following for a moment and then I think she's catching on.

"You're not afraid of fire, are you, Katniss?" I see the expression on her face - it's somewhere between disbelief and terror - and grin. Katniss Everdeen, the girl on fire, is not just going to shine. She is going to burn brighter than any competitor before her.


End file.
